


A Sorceress' Avarice

by amarielah



Series: Assorted Crossover/Fusion Ficlets [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Doctor Aphra (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - The Witcher Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dimension Travel, Female Anakin Skywalker, Gen, Parallel Universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23511163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarielah/pseuds/amarielah
Summary: Anika of Espaberg is in want of a child. The spell she performs to that end has unexpected consequences.
Series: Assorted Crossover/Fusion Ficlets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691710
Kudos: 13





	A Sorceress' Avarice

**Author's Note:**

> Probably won't go anywhere further with this. Just trying to get all these plot bunnies out of my head. 
> 
> Yennefer was giving me major Anakin vibes and I just couldn't resist.

She appears through a vortex that feels like a hole in the universe, walking right into Vader’s quarters on the _Executor_.

She is beautiful, with honey-brown curls cascading down over elegant shoulders, and eyes a piercing blue. She is also uncommonly tall for a human woman — one hundred and eighty centimeters, at least.

Vader knows who she is without having to ask. 

“I’ve heard tales of other realms from the elves,” she says, tilting her head to the side. “It seems that I've stumbled into an awkward circumstance.”

“Indeed,” Vader says, at a loss for how to proceed. He is accustomed to the bizarre, but this particular scenario is outside his frame of reference. Should he kill her? He suspects that it will not be quite so simple. Her power radiates through the Force like heat from a star.

“Your feelings betray you,” she says with a smirk, and mumbles something under her breath. There’s a peculiar rippling in the Force as yet another swirling vortex appears behind her. “I will show you mercy this one time, other self. Know that if you cross me, _I_ shall be the one to prevail.”

She steps into the vortex, and vanishes before his eyes.

* * *

Anika of Espaberg has had better days.

She has also, admittedly, had worse ones. The day the delightful residents of Espaberg had tried to burn her alive for the sin of being born under an eclipse, for example. But not before slitting her mother’s throat. It had only been after half her flesh had burned away that she’d tapped into the power welling up within her and found herself in Aretuza. 

The day that they had saved her life, and she had become their slave.

Followed closely by the day when she had ascended, and they had taken her womb as payment for removing the disfigurements left behind by the flames.

Her other self is still disfigured, beneath the mask. Relying upon strange devices to keep him alive. She had seen it, in his mind: the river of molten rock that had stripped away _his_ flesh. And the things that he had done to deserve such a fate. She, at least, had never deserved it. Not _then_ , at any rate. 

It’s always good to keep perspective, she thinks.

She had seen something else, as well, within the fathomless pit of self-loathing and despair at the very core of him. One tiny pinprick of light.

A son.

In light of that, she supposes that the spell she cast did indeed work — from a certain point of view. A novice mistake that should have been far beneath her. She's loath to admit it, but perhaps Kenobi had been right about her judgment being clouded.

She takes in her surroundings. Not knowing the layout of this realm, she had allowed the Chaos to take her where it willed. She is surrounded by hills, with a gnarled, sparse forest visible in the distance. Anika wrinkles her nose at the foul smell in the air. 

“Holy shit,” says a female voice. Anika turns around to see a young human woman sitting on a rock. She is dark-haired and tan-skinned, with eyes that taper at the outer edges in a manner similar to those of the horse-riding nomads of the Eastern steppes. Pretty. 

The young woman’s mind is full of greed, tenacity, and a deep shame over how much both of these traits define her behavior. Chaos swirls around her, as a swarm of moths attracted to a flame. A beacon, rather than a conduit, much like the Witcher’s pet bard.

“You may be of use to me, Chelli Lona Aphra,” Anika says.

Aphra opens her mouth. Closes it. Frowns, and pushes herself to her feet. Finally, she says, “Do I know you, beautiful portal lady?”

Anika smirks. “Yes and no.”

Aphra sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Will you kill me if I refuse to help you?”

“No,” Anika says. “But I will reward you handsomely if you do.”

Skepticism is written all over Aphra’s face. But also curiosity. “With what?”

Anika’s smirk widens. “A fresh start, and the means to shape it however you wish.”

Ah. There it is. The spark of hunger in Aphra’s eyes. 

“Tell me more,” she says.


End file.
